Linguistic Memory

Pedro Correa Martín-Arroyo, May 2014 AJC PSA Alum 

During my very meaningful experience as a participant of the AJC Program for Students Abroad, I felt that personal reflection would provide me with more enriching souvenirs than photos. This photograph, however, is a most significant exception. It depicts one of the many memorial tablets, each of them in a different European language, which are present at the Auschwitz-Birkenau monument.

This Judeo-Spanish-written cenotaph particularly attracted my attention because it was, unlike the tablets written in more common languages, empty of flowers or any other offering left by visitors. 

As a Spaniard, I drew an analogy between the bare Judeo-Spanish memorial tablet and the fact that Sephardic language and culture are today virtually extinct, due, in part, to the Holocaust, but also to centuries of persecution in Spain. Laying a little stone on that unadorned tombstone, following the Jewish tradition, was my way of commemorating this immeasurable and irretrievable human loss, as well as paying tribute to those lives not lived.

 Pedro Correa Martín-Arroyo is currently a research intern at the NIOD Institute for War, Genocide and Holocaust studies in Amsterdam (The Netherlands). His previous research involved British propaganda in Spain during World War II and the myth of General Franco as ‘Saviour of the Jews’. Starting in October 2014, he will begin a PhD in International History at the London School of Economic (LSE) under the supervision of Professor Paul Preston, which will focus on Jewish refugees and rescue operations in Spain and Portugal during the Holocaust.

Selfie Control

Jenna Brager, 2013 AJC Fellow

This excerpt is from Jenna Brager’s article Selfie Control published by The New Inquiry in March 2014. Please click the link to read the full article.

The exhibit [“Before They Perished” at Birkenau] compiles photos found after liberation in a suitcase in the vicinity of Kanada, believed to have been brought to the camp by families traveling together from the ghetto in the area of Będzin and Sosnowiec and either forgotten amid the piles of stolen goods or stashed as a souvenir by a member of the SS.

In [one] photograph, a girl, in her late teens or early 20s, kneels in front of a white-painted metal bed and behind a small wooden table. She holds a box camera steady atop a book on the table. She is looking down at the camera, intent on the act of creating the image. Both from the positioning of the camera and a glare of light in the top left corner of the photograph, it’s clear that the picture was taken by the subject herself, in a mirror. Like Roland Barthes scrutinizing the photograph of Lewis Payne, the handsome assassin, I am “lacerated” by the knowledge that she is going to die, by the ‘“defeat of Time’” in the historical photograph. And yet I am relieved of the burden of the Nazi gaze. I look at the photographer as subject rather than the victim, interpolated differently by this looped encounter in which I yearn for our eyes to meet and am frustrated by her lowered gaze, by the historical accident of a too-slow look. The woman looks into a mirror, back at herself, but also (not) at me. The open lens of her camera is pointed at her own image and (not) at me. There is no perpetrator, there is no spectacle. This is the devastating part; our eyes (do not) meet.

I wonder, would the inevitability of the death of this unknown woman be more terrible if I knew for certain that she was a Holocaust victim? Would I be less moved by this photograph if I found it in an antique shop in ¬Bielsko-Biala, or in New York City, instead of in this exhibit of photographs of perished Jews? It is easy to create a romantic fiction for the selfie of the unknown woman at Auschwitz—separated lovers, a cherished photograph in the dismal ghetto—as easy as it is to “like” an Instagram selfie and then keep scrolling.

Is what inspired the unknown woman to turn her camera toward the mirror similar or the same as what prompts smartphone users to rotate their cameras toward themselves? What limited circulation did her ephemeral snapshot find before it became an artifact? How do we compare this to the reach of the approximately 35 million selfies on Instagram? How do we parse through this transient superabundance, to locate what “should” be archived, what images will become history? Should we even try?

Jenna Brager is a doctoral student and artist in Women’s and Gender Studies at Rutgers University. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in American Studies and a certificate in LGBT Studies from the University of Maryland, College Park. Her research looks at processes of veridiction and the establishment of truth after atrocity through narrative testimony, photographic evidence, and transgenerational memory practice. Her writing and comics have been published in the Black Warrior Review, The New Inquiry, The Los Angeles Review of Books, and Shareable Magazine, among others.

Integrating Narratives

Yael Friedman, 2013 AJC Fellow

One of my aims as a Holocaust educator is to teach the complexity of Holocaust history by focusing on individual countries’ narratives. The Fellows program raised many of these complexities and offered the opportunity for our group, as scholars, to discuss and debate the intersection of difficult histories. Throughout the program I returned to the question of how to integrate various narratives about the Holocaust and the broader history of the time period. I believe the Holocaust should be taught within the Jewish narrative as well as the general context of the time period rather than as a separate historical event. Salo Baron, a prominent 20th century Jewish history scholar, studied the Holocaust as separate from the Jewish historical narrative. I worry that if we remove such a tragedy from the cohesive story of Jewish history, then we risk losing an accurate understanding of the history from a holistic perspective and the impact of such a catastrophe. Additionally, by divorcing the Holocaust from the Jewish narrative, it makes the Holocaust more incomprehensible and further detached from attempts to understand how such an event could have occurred.

Throughout the program, we were confronted with the challenges of how to present a cohesive, accurate history. Certain questions in particular sparked lively discussion: From the Jewish narrative perspective, to what extent do we include others? How exclusive can the Jewish narrative remain? At what point does the narrative begin? Is there a division between general Holocaust education and Holocaust education for Jewish students? Why can it not be the same? When focusing on Holocaust education, these are the questions, informed by the Fellows program, that I ask.

Timothy Snyder’s Bloodlands emphasizes the challenge of creating an inclusive narrative of this time period. As a Jewish Studies scholar, I recognize that the Holocaust carries an additional dimension for Jews. The collective memory that exists for the Jewish people about the loss and the threat of extermination has shaped the way the majority of Jews understand the importance of the Holocaust and Jewish identity in general. For several decades, Jewish and Israeli educators have used the Holocaust as a tool for developing Jewish identity. Snyder’s book highlights the intersection of difficult histories, namely the dual occupation of Poland by two totalitarian regimes. He examines the role of Poles during the Holocaust and what Poland’s narrative can teach us about memory. Additionally, he complicates our understanding and categorization of victim and perpetrator in this particular context.

In education, arguably in Jewish education especially, it is essential to teach the complexity of Polish history in order to avoid associating the actions that took place on Polish territory primarily with the Polish people. 

Some Jews today will not visit Poland because of their beliefs about the role of Poles in the atrocities of the Holocaust. This approach illustrates a lack of depth in understanding the nuances of Holocaust history. It is necessary to have a complete picture of the reality that existed in order to better understand how such an event could have occurred. Our group discussion of Snyder’s book provided a helpful framework in which to place and explore our own experiences in Poland.

Adding another layer to this complex history, our meeting with Professor Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett at the Museum of the History of Polish Jews in Warsaw highlighted the challenges of representing a Jewish narrative in particular. A challenge exists between presenting the lives of Polish Jews within a separate history compared to a contextual analysis of the development of the Jews of Poland. Professor Kirshenblatt-Gimblett described this difference as an integral history versus a contextual approach, respectively. The Museum, set to open this fall, takes the approach of the former, focusing primarily on the Jewish lived experience without deviating too much into the experiences of other groups at the same time. The exhibition will show the integration of Jews into their surrounding environment, but does not focus on other groups. This discussion helped me create a framework in which to understand the different approaches to teaching about and representing Jewish history.

Professor Kirshenblatt-Gimblett explained: The Holocaust is typically situated in a history of hate, which ends with a discussion of genocide. When the Holocaust is situated within a history of Jewish life, it doesn’t end with genocide. 

Her comment summarizes the difficult task that exists in educating for different audiences and for different purposes. Our discussion with Professor Kirshenblatt-Gimblett challenged my impressions from our discussion in Snyder’s book about integrating difficult histories in order to get a full picture of the history. I found it extremely helpful to learn about the process of presenting a specifically Jewish narrative and how that compares to portraying a narrative that includes multiple historical perspectives; this includes humanizing perpetrators in order to address the importance of making moral and ethical choices.

In the exhibit People of Kraków in Times of Terror 1939-1945-1956, I appreciated that the exhibition designers included biographies of individuals with a variety of perspectives: victims, informers, and Polish police. The inclusion of all types of people offers a more nuanced picture of life during this time period. It doesn’t make it easier for us to swallow the reality, but it allows us to examine the circumstances more humanely.

On the other hand, there are cases of including multiple perspectives that are jarring and verge on inappropriate, in my opinion. A relatively new addition to the Treblinka memorial now stands on the periphery of the cemetery of stones ranging in size, shape, and color. There are four photographs of Nazi guards, Nazi accommodations, and the process of creating large pits in which to burn the bodies. The images provide a stark contrast between the memorial to the victims and the Nazi role in such inhumane actions. This was an extremely unsettling addition to the site and calls into question the nature of the site. Is it a memorial? To whom? For what? Is there an educational element to including these images? As a memorial site to nameless victims, this doesn’t appear to be the appropriate location for these historical photographs. It is unclear what the purpose of these photographs is and what it contributes to the experience of visiting Treblinka. Instead, there should be a dedicated place to learn about the Nazi mentality and the relationship between the Nazis and their victims, though this does not seem to be the right place or an appropriate means to bring these considerations into the discussion. This juxtaposition underscores the challenge of bridging together multiple narratives in one location. Perhaps a more extensive museum would be able to more adequately address the integration of narratives without marring the experience of the memorial site.

I am still exploring the answers to many of my questions, yet I feel comfortable with that. I feel most inspired when I constantly question why I am interested in the Holocaust and how much I can learn. It is evident that I still have contradictory perspectives on how and when to include different difficult histories, but I firmly believe that the intersection of narratives will help us improve education today. We must continue to question how to present multiple histories and integrate them. I am extremely appreciative for the many tools, examples, and resources I acquired during my Fellowship in order to delve into these issues more deeply throughout my career.

Yael Friedman is currently the Gallery Education Coordinator at the Museum of Jewish Heritage. She graduated with a Dual Master’s in Education and Jewish Studies and Hebrew and Judaic Studies from New York University as a Jim Joseph Fellow, with a concentration in Holocaust Education. She holds a B.A. in Jewish, Islamic and Near Eastern Studies from Washington University in St. Louis where she received the Steven S. Schwarzschild Prize for Overall Excellence in Jewish Studies. Yael has worked in various capacities at several Holocaust museums and educational non-profit organizations as well as at the U.S. Department of State for the Special Envoy to Monitor and Combat Anti-Semitism. She focuses on curriculum and professional development for Holocaust Studies.

Eastern European Memory and Reflections on Romania

Grant Harward, 2013 AJC Fellow

When I was applying for the Auschwitz Jewish Center Fellows Program, I was interested in better understanding the complexities of the Holocaust in Poland. I knew it would be an invaluable opportunity to learn about the German government and Nazi regime and gain a comparative perspective for my own research into the Romanian army and government and their involvement in the Holocaust under the regime of Marshal Ion Antonescu.

During the Fellowship, I found myself drawn to the issue of Polish post-war memory of pre-war Jewish life and the Holocaust. This topic captured my attention and was probably the issue that I learned most about and changed my perspective most profoundly. I dealt with memory in my research usually in the form of sources: journals, memoirs, and oral interviews. In carrying out oral interviews with veterans from the war, memory was a key issue. Books such as Maria Bucur’s Heroes and Victims: Remembering War in Twentieth-Century Romania and Gavin Bowd’s Memoria razboiului (The Memory of the War), 1941-1945, introduced me to some of the ideas of memory in the context of the Second World War in Romania.

As I was confronted with different examples of memory in Poland, I began contrasting them with my previous experiences when I was conducting my research in Romania, where the actions of the Antonescu Regime, independent of German pressure or direction, resulted in the murder of at least 300,000 Romanian and Soviet Jews. This is not taking into account the Jews of Northern Transylvania, which was under Hungarian occupation during the war. Still, none of my experiences in Romania prepared me for some of the things that I learned in Poland.

One of the first exhibits we saw during the Jewish Culture Festival was Souvenir, Talisman, Toy, an exhibit on contemporary Jewish figurines and images sold in the main square of Krakow, and elsewhere in Poland. I had read about these figurines tangentially in The Pages In Between before starting the program, but had not really thought much more about these examples of post-war memory. The exhibit on the figurines was well done and engaging, but overall I had an increasingly unsettled feeling as I made my way through the different parts of the exhibit, particularly as I watched the interviews with Poles about the figurines. Average people were asked why they had bought or sold the figurines and what was the significance that they held in their view. I was extremely disturbed when I heard some comments from shop owners selling the figurines that one person who saw the figurines said they looked like they were “lined up for the gas chambers”. I had a strong reaction to these figurines, as did many in the group who went to see the exhibition. However, these objects forced me to reflect on memory of Jewish life in Poland compared to what I had experienced, or, rather had not experienced in Romania when visiting cities, which once had large and thriving Jewish populations.

During our reflection session on the figurines, we talked about their appropriateness and the continued strength of particular stereotypes today. Throughout the Fellowship, the diversity of the fellows’ backgrounds served to help me understand more about this complicated aspect of historiography through engaging discussions. We explored the reality that many Jewish visitors feel their own stereotypes about the Polish people are confirmed when they see stereotypical representations of Jews in Poland. Poles are often stereotyped as being anti-Semitic because of bitter memories of interwar Polish nationalism, events during wartime Nazi occupation, and Communist era politics. Therefore, many believe that anti-Semitism is somehow an innate part of the Polish character and see the figurines as proof positive. However, as I was mulling over these things in our reflection session, I thought of my visits to cities in Romania, the Republic of Moldova, and Ukraine, which had formerly been major centers of Jewish life and culture; cities such as Bucharest, Iaşi, Cernowitz, Chisinev, and Odessa. When I visited them, these cities lacked any provoking visuals representation of their former Jewish populations, such as the ones we saw intermittently in Poland. In those cities, there is a marked absence of memory of the Jewish culture that once had flourished in them and played a major role in their respective histories. Yet the physical absence of images that can be labeled offensive does not mean that stereotypes or anti-Semitic feelings do not exist in those countries. In fact, I know from personal experience that such sentiments are still prevalent. This led me to wonder:

Is it better to have a skewed public memory of the past rather than a general amnesia? 

The informal dichotomy that I considered was that of bad memory versus no memory. One of my colleagues suggested that the actual physical remnants (synagogues, cemeteries, memorials) should comprise the public memory of Jewish communities and not misrepresented stereotypes. She had a good point, except that we know that usually only a handful of these physical remnants survived the Second World War. It was made clear during visits to various cities how much was destroyed, so that even what physical remains of former Jewish life are left are often remote, hidden, re-appropriated or ignored – leaving only memory behind.

In Romania, the situation is similar, in Iaşi, only one synagogue of nearly one hundred survived the war. In Bucharest, the four remaining major synagogues are hidden behind huge Communist blocs, literally out of sight and out of mind. While it is clear that Romania had a much smaller Jewish pre-war population, around 800,000, in comparison to over three million in Poland, it still seems strange and disturbing that very few remnants of the Romanian-Jewish culture remain, particularly because Romanian Jews were notably visible minorities in urban settings. All major Romanian cities in the interwar period had large Jewish populations whether in the southern region of Wallachia or the western region of Transylvania with their largely assimilated, Reform Jewish populations or in the eastern regions of Moldavia and Bessarabia with its more Orthodox and Yiddish speaking Jewish population. In fact, Iaşi was the birthplace of modern Yiddish theatre. The Jewish past of Romania was vibrant and influential, but during the war much of the population of the eastern provinces was decimated by the Antonescu regime, yet the Jewish population of Wallachia and southern Transylvania survived deportation and death; numbering around 350,000 in 1945. Therefore, in Romania, unlike Poland, the Jewish population survived the war much more intact and Jewish life actually continued until the late 1970s, when most Jews were allowed to immigrate to Israel by the Communist regime. Nevertheless, despite the survival and continuity of the Jewish community in Romania, today, unlike in Poland, there is basically no memory of that past, flawed or otherwise.

There are certain public examples of that memory in Romania, such as the Romanian Holocaust Memorial, which was only inaugurated in 2009. There are a few memorials in Iaşi and other towns created after the war by the Jewish community. The Jewish Yiddish Theatre still exists in Bucharest. There are synagogues in almost all the Romanian cities I have ever visited, usually dilapidated and vacant, but there nonetheless. More distressing to me is the absence of a public discussion or debate about the complicity and role that Romanians played in the Holocaust. This is in stark contrast to the situation that I experienced while in Poland during the fellowship program. It became evident to me as I read the required readings, listened to lectures, and talked with our Polish guides, that there has been an extensive, ongoing discussion about Polish collaboration and responsibility in the Holocaust. In Romania, in contrast, this debate is nearly nonexistent, even though Romania remained unoccupied by Nazi Germany and independently partook in deportation and murder of the Jewish communities of the eastern provinces of Bukovina, Bessarabia, and Transnistria.

Despite the varied opinions on representations of Jews and post-war memory, it seems to me that no memory may be worse than bad memory. Despite the issues Poland still faces, its open space for dialogue should be a model for many countries. In Romania, without public debate or organizations addressing post-war memory, there is no forum to inform the public, help people learn from the past, and, hopefully, begin healing wounds. Instead Romanian academics working in the United States try to confront the issue of the Holocaust in Romania, but the debate is limited to Romanian academics in Romania writing in response justifying the actions of Antonescu and his regime against Romanian Jews. The government is officially supporting Holocaust studies and funded the Holocaust Memorial in Bucharest, but it seems largely lacking motivation other than to placate the European Union in order to receive funds and support. The government has done the official minimum required of it to remember the Holocaust. The more important goal, and the much more difficult one, will be to expand the debate to include more than a narrow strata of government officials and academics to include the general public.

My experience with the many forms of commemoration and memory in Poland during the fellowship affected me greatly. It offered me a new perspective of my own research and motivates me to make sure that I properly address the Holocaust and its issues in my own work. I returned from Poland with a largely optimistic outlook on developments. The debate over the Holocaust continues to raise awareness of tolerance and understanding. The Jewish past in Poland seems to be steadily more recognized and important, as evidenced by the new Museum of the History of Polish Jews that we visited in Warsaw. I hope that I can contribute in the future to the ongoing debate and scholarship on the Holocaust in a meaningful way, which will help our understanding of the events as well as change the attitudes of people in contemporary problems of intolerance and prejudice.

Grant Harward grew up in Orange County, California and earned his B.A. from Brigham Young University, where he researched the Communist takeover in Romania. He lived in Romania for two years, studying Romanian history during the Second World War and becoming fluent in the language. He earned his M.A. in History of the Second World War in Europe from the University of Edinburgh in Scotland. He is currently a Ph.D. student in Modern European History at Texas A&M University. His research focuses on the motivation of Romanian soldiers fighting on the Eastern Front against the Red Army and in perpetrating atrocities against the Jewish population under Romanian administration.

Reflections on the American Service Academies Program at the United States Air Force Academy

Jessica Adams & Nathan Orrill, USAFA 2014 / 2013 ASAP Alums

In March 2014, Jessica Adams and Nathan Orrill, two participants of the American Service Academies Program (ASAP) presented at the National Character and Leadership Symposium (NCLS) at the United States Air Force Academy (USAFA). Here, they share their experiences with us during a Q&A.

What is the NCLS? 
NCLS is a one of the nation’s premier symposia in the field of character and leadership development, bringing together distinguished scholars, military leaders, corporate executives, world-class athletes, and others to explore a character-related theme based on the United States Air Force Academy’s institutional outcome. It is held annually at the Air Force Academy and this year’s theme was: “Character Overcoming Conflict: Individual Stories, Global Impact.”

What was the topic of your presentation?
We were invited to speak at this event as members of a cadet panel, to provide the “cadet” perspective on the Holocaust and ethical leadership dilemmas. Drawing upon the lessons learned during the program and our experiences throughout the trip, we presented on a wide array of issues to an audience of over 120 people. In attendance were USAFA department heads, visiting students and professors, and the Surgeon General of the Israeli Defense Forces, Brigadier General Kriess.

What were the highlights of the presentation?
The panel sparked both insightful and relevant discussion among the audience members. Much like the experience of cadets and midshipmen participating in ASAP, the audience encountered many of the same difficult questions and dilemmas. Though time was limited, we were successful in recreating the environment of sharing, critical thought, and forthright discussion, which was so essential and beneficial during the ASAP. There were two moments in particular that spoke to the credit and value of the ASAP and Holocaust education in general. The first was when a Jewish sophomore cadet expressed awe that the talk was standing room only. He said that the crowded room brought him close to tears, impressing upon him that so many of his fellow classmates and teachers cared about the Holocaust.

The second moment was when General Kreiss’ son publicly thanked the panel for his father, and then later personally expressed his gratitude, saying that as a Jew and an Israeli the Holocaust is an obvious, integral part of who they are. However, he and his father did not come to America, and the USAFA, expecting to hear a talk about the Holocaust. They were touched, saying they would never forget this talk. The impact on the whole audience was noticeable and profound; many listeners came up after the talk expressing their gratitude and thanks.

How did doing this panel tie into your ASAP experience?
One of the most important aspects of the program is continuing education and increasing public awareness, and we can say confidently that our participation in this panel met this goal. We wish to thank the Museum of Jewish Heritage and the Auschwitz Jewish Foundation for sponsoring ASAP and allowing us the opportunity to teach the lessons of the Holocaust to our peers, colleagues, and superiors. 

Jessica Adams is majoring in English Literature with minors in Arabic and Spanish at the U.S. Air Force Academy. Originally from outside Atlanta, Georgia, she plans on attending the University of Virginia after she graduates to pursue a Master’s Degree in British Literature before beginning her Air Force career as a Public Affairs Officer. 

Nathan Orrill is a senior cadet at the U.S. Air Force Academy majoring in political science and minoring in Arabic language. After graduation in May 2014, he will commission as a Second Lieutenant in the Air Force and will attend Intelligence Officer School in Texas.

Public Reminders

Molly Greathouse, 2013 AJC PSA Alum

Whenever I reflect on my trip to Kraków and Oświęcim, this is always the image that pops into my head. Although it isn't the typical photo to describe the kind of journey we took through Poland, the message I captured in the image indicated that the history of World War II is still poignant and present for the people of Kraków – impossible to ignore. In America, there are no daily reminders of this time period, but by having simple street art akin to this, the memory of victims and the dangers of discrimination are kept alive though daily reminders.

One of the things I like about street art is that it is able to convey great ideas through a single image or a simple sentence. Public art, such as street art or graffiti, and public initiatives in general have a great effect on those who see them. Because of the fact that these types of expression are open to the public, it is up to the viewer to interpret the message how he or she wishes. This gives great power to the art while also allowing the viewer to participate in creating the message.

Molly Greathouse is a senior at the University of California, Irvine where she is pursuing an International Studies major and French minor. Her professional focus is digital and online media and is pursuing a career for new artists in the music industry. She currently is writing about her travel experiences on her own blog, as well as on The College Tourist.

A Visit from Rabbi Kevin Hale

In November, Rabbi Kevin Hale – a Café Oshpitzin “Kickstarter” from Massachusetts and a Sofer (Torah and sacred scroll scribe) – began to write a mezuzah scroll for Café Oshpitzin. A mezuzah is a sacred parchment inscribed by hand with two portions of Torah; it is hung on the doorpost of a Jewish house or building.

We believe this is the first mezuzah written in Oświęcim in more than 70 years. Rabbi Hale, who reached out to us after discovering our Kickstarter campaign, told us he was headed to Oświęcim on a retreat and that he intended to write a kosher mezuzah scroll while here. He very kindly offered that scroll to us for the Café. We are honored by Rabbi Hale’s gift.

Volunteer Profile: Michael Holzmannhofer, 2013-2014

Michael Holzmannhofer during the October PSA in the newly-opened Shoah exhibit at Auschwitz. Photo by Dara Bramson.

Hometown: Wels, Austria

What attracted you to the AJC? 

I have always been very interested in World War II and the Holocaust. I realized that my experience at the AJC would allow me to understand the history of 1939 to 1945 in Europe in a deeper way. Therefore, I had to learn about Judaism in general, and the Jewish history of Oświęcim, which was the beginning of a very deep interest into Jewish life, rituals, and culture. Since I began my volunteer service, I recognized that guiding groups and learning about Jewish history at such a unique place fits me perfectly. 

What are you enjoying most about your volunteer experience? 

I love to work with people. Guiding groups through our museum and teaching them about the history of this town is great. For me, it’s also quite interesting to ask students in my age group what they already know about Judaism and motivate them to reflect on their experience at the AJC and visiting the camps. 

How has volunteering here affected you? 

Since I’ve been at the AJC, my communication skills have improved. Now I can speak in front of 40 people without any fear. My English is improving day by day, which I will definitely need for the second half of my service through the Austrian Holocaust Memorial Service at the American Jewish Committee in New York City. Secondly, I have learned so much about Jewish life in Oświęcim through the exhibitions at the AJC, and I am also learning so much about the history of the town by simply living here. 

What is one thing you'd like others to know about the AJC or think people don't know? 

The AJC is a wonderful, welcoming place, which is – from my point of view – necessary if you want to understand what Oświęcim is and was.

My Contribution to Never Again

2012 ASAP Participant

The United States Naval Academy sends more than 1,200 first year midshipmen (plebes) to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM) each year as part of a professional development program called the Genocide Awareness Program. On September 18, I coordinated bringing more than 40 upper-class Naval Academy midshipmen to the USHMM to be trained in how to lead discussions and reflections for the plebes. The discussions we led focused on the importance of ethical leadership within the context of both the military and society. This activity was an overwhelming success, with excellent feedback from museum curators. Since then, each group is filled almost to capacity every time a session takes place.

What motivated me to coordinate this event with the gracious USHMM staff and the Naval Academy Character Development Office was the idea of Never Again. This call for change frequently echoes in my mind when I reflect on everything I learned during the 2012 American Service Academies Program – starting in DC at the USHMM, to the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York, and the Auschwitz Jewish Center in Poland. I was particularly compelled to contribute to this broader discussion after the August 2013 tragedies in Syria. As I read updates from citizens in terrible conditions and looked at horrific pictures of chemical weapon attacks, I thought, “What can I, a midshipman at the Naval Academy, do?”

At first I felt helpless, but that was a temporary reaction to an event with unknown and tangible reverberations. The tragedies in Syria seemed worlds away if I turned off my computer and avoided viral images. But I did not want to remove myself; I chose to take action by working as a liaison between the Naval Academy and the Holocaust Museum. My hope is to continue the dialogue of Never Again between my peers and scholars. We can continue to learn from history by creating dialogue and acquiring knowledge applicable to contemporary issues, working towards Never Again together and as individuals.

How Poland is Remembering the Past

Caroline Cormier, 2013 Auschwitz Jewish Center Fellow

A slender grey-haired man with a bright smile met our group in a sunny room at the Centre for Dialogue and Prayer in Oświęcim. He introduced himself as Father Manfred Deselears – a German, Catholic priest who moved to Oświęcim in 1990 to assist in using the lessons from the Holocaust to transform relationships in the present. In telling us about his work, Father Deselears said something that has weighed heavily on my mind since returning from Poland last summer. Sitting up straight in his chair, he leaned forward and told us matter-of-factly that to understand the Holocaust is to understand what Auschwitz itself is a symbol of. According to Father Deselears, “Auschwitz symbolizes the fundamental destruction of relationships between individuals and people and communities the world over.” What we need to do, he continued, is begin working toward truly healing these relationships – not simply glossing over them or forgetting the past.

“If we do not confront memory in a real way, it will continue to haunt us and limit the kinds of relationships we can have in the future,” he said. In this context, the role of memorialization and educational programming create important spaces – where people, with all of their wounds and scars, are welcome to engage in dialogue with one another while maintaining their respective identities. Father Deselears’ call to begin listening to each other in a more productive manner has a clear presence outside of Oświęcim and the former Nazi death camp that stands at the town’s outskirts. In fact, a desire to engage in meaningful dialogue about life before, during, and after the Holocaust is present in numerous facets of Polish society today.

Time and time again, my experience in Poland this summer revealed the many reasons why Poland cannot and should not be solely defined by its past. 

While we cannot deny the atrocities that took place on Polish soil during the Holocaust, there is a need to move forward and continue the healing process. Of course, this process is not an easy task: it requires Poles today to have the courage to delve into their country’s past, as victims and perpetrators, in order to cope with the devastating void that the destruction left behind. Already, this process has set into motion a meaningful engagement with their own responsibility for memory itself. I was especially intrigued by efforts to commemorate the past, which have been established at the local level. Without a doubt, there is substantial evidence that the healing process in Poland is well underway. As a result of this process, the Holocaust has been memorialized in many different forums by a wide array of individuals throughout contemporary Poland.

I had visited Poland in 2008 on another educational program focused on visiting Holocaust sites. Returning to Poland in 2012 as an AJC Fellow, my understanding of the country’s past changed considerably. Our group was fortunate to meet community leaders, local activists, and representatives from non-profit/non-governmental organizations who have taken on the responsibility of educating current and future generations about Poland’s history. We had the opportunity to engage with non-Jewish Poles who have been working to preserve the remnants of pre-war Jewish life in their communities. In Krakow, we participated in the Jewish Culture Festival, developed in 1988 by a non-Jewish Pole. The Festival educates people about Jewish history and culture – both past and present. Thousands of Poles attend the festival annually, engaging in educational workshops or simply attending the much-anticipated concert finale. In my opinion, this festival, in spite of the oft-made argument that it may not be a valid representation of Jewish culture, serves as an important nexus between the representation of Jewish life in pre-war Poland and the renewal of Jewish life in Poland in recent years. The festival provides a forum for anyone interested to engage with the past and present.

There are smaller-scale commemoration ventures taking place that are also worth mentioning here. In Będzin, we met with Karolina and Piotr Jakoweńko of the Cukerman’s Gate Foundation – an enthusiastic young couple who have taken an avid interest in their community’s history. In seeking to preserve the remnants of pre-war Jewish life in their city, they have fought to preserve a former shul and Beit Midrash in the city. They also developed a number of public commemoration projects, which they have worked to incorporate into the city landscape. The work of the Jakoweńko duo is only one example of many non-Jewish Poles committed to protecting and preserving Jewish heritage sites and memory in Poland.

Even small communities throughout Poland are working to restore or preserve the synagogues remaining in their communities – by turning them into community centers, museums, or simply leaving them to stand as memorials in a semi-destroyed state. During my time as an AJC Fellow, I had the opportunity to visit many of these communities. These efforts all show that Poles are engaging with the Jewish past of their country in a meaningful way. While there is no way to restore the lives that were lost during the Holocaust, these efforts demonstrate progress towards real change in Poland and beyond. The memory-work taking place does not always provide easy, clear-cut solutions to understanding the Holocaust. Instead, the ongoing memory-work stands as an acknowledgement that the healing process that comes in the wake of genocidal violence requires a kind of patience and commitment that will endure for generations to come.

Without question, my experience in Poland this past summer was eye-opening. My time spent as an AJC Fellow provided the knowledge and experience necessary to begin contributing to a larger conversation about how to think differently about contemporary life in Poland in relation to the Holocaust. Seeing the country in a different light than during my first visit in 2008 allowed me to recognize the dangers of presenting a single-sided story about Poland’s past and, more importantly, it showed me that history isn’t simply about the past. It is a continuum that requires constant (re)construction and (re)negotiation – processes that are both challenging and evolving. While there certainly is a lot more to be done in Poland, it seems that there is movement in the right direction in generating an environment where the past is accounted for and the future is re-imagined.

Caroline Cormier is currently pursuing her Ph.D. in History at the University of Toronto. Her dissertation project focuses on the politics of Holocaust memory in postwar Germany. Caroline holds a M.A. in Geography and Urban Planning from the University of Toronto, as well as a B.A. (Honours) degree in Political Science and Global Development Studies from Queen's University.